


The Palace at Versailles

by BeesAreAwesome, ThunderThighsMish (Voib)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Forbidden Love, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 15:20:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19907878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeesAreAwesome/pseuds/BeesAreAwesome, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voib/pseuds/ThunderThighsMish
Summary: It's 1788, and Dean's finally been invited to live at the Palace at Versailles in the company of his majesty, the King. The lords and ladies of the Palace bustle around, searching for the right person to accompany them in the night. Dean, on the other hand, has carefully set up a persona to work his way up to the King's personal informants. One fateful night and Dean finds himself in the company of his Majesty's own political adviser, one Castiel. As with the other people living in glamour at the palace, Castiel doesn't see the damage that is happening outside of the walls of the palace, where Dean himself had come from. Now, the people of France are counting on Dean to spark social change in a country where people are collapsing in the streets from starvation. But--Castiel isn't helping. Will he open his eyes and betray the King, or will he live on in the safety of the palace?





	The Palace at Versailles

**Author's Note:**

> This took me a while, even if it's considered a short fic, because of the research involved. There's lots of little details that I had to _read_ to know. Ugh, I had to learn things. Gross, right?
> 
> The banner and the art for this fic was created by the wonderful [BeesAreAwesome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeesAreAwesome/works)! She managed to know exactly what I imagined Dean wearing in this AU. (Make sure to check out her other artwork. She's a jack of all trades!)
> 
> Without further ado, here's a fic (written for the [Supernatural Trope Celebration](https://supernaturaltropecelebration.tumblr.com/)) about history and how nerdy I am.
> 
> Quick translation: _Pour s'habiller à Paris, il faut devenir Paris._ → To dress in Paris, you have to become Paris.

Dean’s heels reverberated in the high archways of one of the many courts of Versailles. The delicately painted angels glared at him from the ceiling, trying to make this bothersome imposter leave their holy presence. Their eyes made him wary, even if they were only art, for they seemed to know what everyone was thinking.

The judging air never ceased; even when Dean entered his chambers. Maybe it was the gold woven into the duvet or the sheen and glimer covering the room. Whatever it was, it made Dean feel uneasy.

A draft from his open window made him shiver and he quickly went to shut it. The morning warmth had been beautiful, but the dawn’s bite quickly closed in. And Dean did not want to bare himself to the cold while he was changing his knickers.

He pulled off his loungewear and soon replaced it with a brown jacket dusted in gold detailing, which he paired with the matching pair of trousers. He pulled on his leather boots and left the small room, but not before grabbing his ivory pocket knife. He slipped the small thing into his breast pocket and entered the hallway, carefully scanning the hallways for specific faces that he was warned against.

Once he met the grandeur of the Mar’s Room, Dean pasted a smile on his face. The ostentatious display of the first of the King’s rooms drew people deeper into the palace, where they were kept as pets by the King. It brought misery to Dean, making him sick to his stomach. These people forgot how to do an honest day’s work or how to enjoy many of the privileges that they imposed on.

But Dean knew what it was like out there. Dean had been forced to live the life that many of the Versailles occupants thought was dishonest or untrue. Dean knew that the price of living had increased threefold, and that the people were sick and starving, their bread ridden with maggots and rot.

Dean never let those thoughts loose from his mind, always trying to remember his meaning in this castle full of lies.

The King’s subjects were gorging themselves on free hors d'oeuvres and red wine, drunk on their meaningless conversations. Women were laughing and men were spreading on their best charm, hoping to bed a mistress in their chamber. It was quite mundane, in Dean’s opinion, to perform the same lines night after night in the hope of finding a partner ignorant enough to go along with it.

Dean didn’t have time for affairs of that sort. He had a plan, and that plan required _meticulous_ development and regulation. He couldn’t slip up or drink too much or accidentally admit something while in the throes of passion with a partner. It held too much risk to do anything other than the job.

Madame de Alvise happened to turn when he had entered the room, and her eyes lit up at the prospect of introducing Dean to her friends.

Dean held back a deep sigh and began to weave his way through the subjects to the other side of the room before she could entrap him in conversation. He entered the next of the rooms, where the people became even more pretentious. Dean’s supposed class was higher than theirs, so he continued onto the next room and limited his interactions with the lower classes.

The inviting detail and vibrant color of the Mercury Room made it hard to miss. The people in this chamber seemed to be the ones consuming all of the alcohol. The mass of rosy-cheeked, giddy occupants made Dean assured that he was in the right room.

He refreshed his fake smile and dove into the crowd, bumping into people before turning politely and giving them a charming smile. They immediately forgave him and sparked a conversation, letting Dean gather intel on their social circle, heredity, financial status—and finally—connections to the royal family. Dean was _especially_ interested in the latter.

Dean tried not to reveal anything about himself other than his first name and just how _charming_ he was, letting the madame become subject to infatuation. Most times, it worked on the marquees too.

 _Most_ times. Emphasis on _most_.

Dean was quick to strike a conversation with a squat young lady with black hair and bright rouge. He laughed at one of her overly enthusiastic jokes, stepping back in mock humor, before he bumped into a solid body.

Dean quickly turned around, intent on apologizing to the duke or _important figure_ before he lost his head, but as soon as he saw the man, his mouth malfunctioned by immediately snapping shut.

The man in front of Dean was a work of art, more so than the impressive paintings that encased the room. The man stared back, his face even as he either thought about the churches doves or the ways he was going to murder the man that _dare touch him_.

Oh, Dean should probably say something.

“Sir, please forgive me for my impudence. The wine seems to be playing with my head,” Dean breathed, eyes never leaving the man’s delicate features. And his _eyes_. Dean didn’t know a man could have such beautiful eyes.

“Hm. I have seen you around tonight, and you haven’t touched a drop of alcohol,” the man said matter-of-factly. He continued, “Maybe the heat of the room is getting to you.”

Dean blushed. He’d been caught in his lie by a very attractive man and shame was burning low in his stomach. “Perhaps,” Dean replied, “would you like to join me? The temperature of this room is _quite_ awful.”

The man’s eyes flicked across his face, glazing over certain features. “I will admit, I have been rather uncomfortable throughout the duration of this event.”

Dean didn’t comment further, and instead lifted his elbow to the man in accompaniment.

The man gave a little nod, accepting Dean’s offer, and hooked his arm into Dean’s. It was harder to reach the exit with two people, but they managed.

Dean couldn’t help but notice the way that people… _stared_ , to put it blatantly. Everyone seemed to turn to the two men as they attempted to escape the stuffy architecture of the palace. Their eyes widened like scared sheep and they whispered to their friends. It made Dean wonder who the man he had bumped into really was.

On one hand, the more noble the person was, the better. Dean needed the vital intel that he just wasn’t getting with the many women who stormed the palace. Dean needed the cold, hard truth on Louis XVI.

On the other hand, the more he toiled with nobility, the more likely he was to be found out. If Dean revealed enough, things wouldn’t add up and he would surely be guillotined faster than he could say ‘Vive la France!’

Dean was playing a dangerous game, and he knew it.

───── ⋆⋅♔⋅⋆ ─────

If Dean could appreciate anything, it was the gardens of Versailles. They stretched for kilometer upon kilometer and were filled with plants from every corner of the world. They were maintained to perfection, and no matter where you looked, there was something vibrant and alive.

Dean knew this in the back of his mind, but he was more invested in studying this mysterious man. The man with the well fitting clothes, but the ruffled hair. The one with the folded papers in his pockets and an ink stain on his breast.

They had enjoyed the silence of the gardens, drinking in the fresh air, and enjoying the warmth that they emitted through their clothes. They found a bench on the edge of the garden that wasn’t sprinkled with dew and had sat in companionable silence.

There were a few people roaming the grandeur of the gardens, but they were far enough off that they couldn’t bother the couple.

Dean turned towards the man to find him already looking deep into his eyes, and Dean’s breath hitched. Part of his reactions were genuine, and Dean couldn’t help but lick his bottom lip. Another part of him hoped that this man would be willing to tumble into bed with him, judging by his clear interest.

Dean let his hand rest upon the other man’s inner thigh. Maybe it was something that a mistress would do, but Dean couldn’t care any less in that moment. Soon enough, the man’s lips met Dean’s and he moaned into the kiss. It was a deep moan that emanated from deep within his chest, and Dean could feel himself responding, growing hard in his trousers.

The man kissed like his life depended on it, and he wasn’t gentle with it either. He thrust his tongue into Dean’s mouth and bit Dean’s lip when he pulled back.

“It seems to be just as hot out here, by God,” Dean commented, breathless.

The man pulled back and looked Dean over like he was a piece of meat. His hungry eyes made Dean bite his swollen, red lips. “Maybe we can stoke the fire up in my room?”

Dean felt himself blush at the comment, and turned away from the man. “I don’t put out like a sow, sir.”

“Maybe I can be the exception?” he suggested.

Dean let out a deep sigh before he responded. “Oh, _fine_.”

───── ⋆⋅♔⋅⋆ ─────

It wasn’t long before he was being led up an ornate set of stairs to the upper levels of the palace. They snuck around corners like questionable teens before they made it to a remote corner of the floor. The man was quick to produce a key to a plain looking door. He unlocked it while Dean stayed on look out for any person who might be wandering by.

Dean was pulled into a room that was decorated in a manner similar to the King’s. Dean looked around in confusion before he looked back towards his partner.

The man gave a little shrug and then began to undress, pulling off his boots.

_Right to business then._

Dean quickly undressed near his side of the bed, the other man throwing his clothes into a pile on the other side. He kept getting distracted by the man’s muscular frame. It looked like he played a sport, tennis or something.

Dean snapped back to himself when the man was only down to his knickers. He quickly pulled the rest of his clothes off until he mirrored the other man’s state of undress.

They seemed to have the same idea, as they both climbed onto the bed at the same time, meeting in the middle.

The man went right back to dominating Dean’s mouth while he moved over the top of him. One of Dean’s hands was placed in a hold above his head and Dean moaned into the man’s mouth.

Dean gently pushed back on the man’s chest separating them. “What exactly _is_ your name? I need to know what I am to moan…”

The man let out a little laugh. “I am Castiel. And you are…?”

“Dean.”

“Well, nice to meet you, _Dean_ ,” Castiel said before he latched lips onto Dean neck and sucked. He released a moment later, leaving a dark mark.

Dean let out a breathy moan at the ministrations, and brought his free hand off the bed and down Castiel’s stomach. He trailed it down the man’s trim waist to the prominent bulge that he was sporting. He felt the weight in his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. The man simply moaned into Dean’s chest and continued working his way down Dean’s body.

Castiel suckled at Dean’s nipples, making them perk up. Dean felt fire burning low in his gut, flaring up.

Eventually, they’d both explored each others bodies enough and wanted to see the main attractions. Castiel quickly pulled Dean’s undergarments off and then pulled off his own. Castiel was quick to grind his stiff length into Dean’s own, making both of them groan out into the empty room.

They were both slicking the way enough that it was a comfortable feeling, filling the room with sounds of desperate panting. But Dean wanted more.

“Do—Do you have something to slick the way?” Dean panted out.

“I have some oil that we can use,” Castiel said, a spark in his eyes. He left the bed and moved to a drawer, pulling out a little vat of grease. He brought it back to the bed and set it beside Dean. He popped the cap and scooped some onto his fingers, warming it up.

The man didn’t waste time on foreplay, as he immediately inserted a finger into Dean’s heat, quickly switching to two.

Dean moaned at the feeling of pressure and the gentle pleasure ebbing in. He pushed his hips back, desperate to have more contact with the man.

Castiel pulled away and used the rest of the lube in his hand to slick his cock. He grabbed Dean’s hips and lined himself up with Dean’s entrance. The head of his cock slipped inside, and he let out a moan at the intense pressure surrounding him.

Dean's breath hitched as Castiel breached his entrance. The man clearly knew what he wanted, as judging by the force he used to hold Dean’s hips, and it wasn’t long before he drew back a little, letting his cock pop out of Dean’s hole. He adjusted himself, and Dean felt him sink his entire cock deep into Dean’s channel.

They set a pace, making the bed creak and bang against the wall while they were buried in ecstasy.

Dean’s arms eventually got tired and he went down onto his forearms, spreading his legs more to make up for the change in angle. Castiel seemed to get the memo, and he adjusted his position on the mattress.

Now that the angle was _just right_ , with Castiel’s cock thoroughly stimulating Dean’s prostate, Dean felt his body react. He let out a deep moan, feeling his muscles flex and cock bob underneath him. “F _uck_ —I’m so close.”

“Come for me, sweetheart,” Castiel said, breathless. He continued his pounding pace until he brought his cock up to the hilt and released inside of Dean’s body. Stars danced behind his eyelids as he came down from the orgasmic high.

Dean was lying limp on the bed, Castiel’s cock still filling him, while he caught his breath. There was a wet spot on the center of the bed that he was precariously avoiding.

Castiel finally pulled out, making Dean wince, before they both laid down on the bed, staring up at the white ceiling.

“That was… _really_ good,” Dean commended. His muscles were tired, but he laid lax on the bed, enjoying the afterglow.

“Thank you,” Castiel responded. He hesitated before continuing, “I haven't seen you around the palace? Are you new here? Perhaps visiting?”

“No, not visiting. I am staying,” Dean replied gently. He turned and looked towards Castiel who was laying across on his pillow. “Maybe we could see each other again?”

“I hope so. Between my consulting duties and the politics of the crown, it seems I have no time away from work. But I can make time for anyone as charming as you,” Castiel led with a small smile.

 _Hold on_. Castiel had _consulting duties_? _And_ he was involved in the politics of the _King_?

Dean really knew how to choose the lookers. And if Castiel had a straight shot to the King, then Dean would milk this relationship for all it was worth.

“Dean?” Castiel said suddenly, snapping Dean out of his thoughts.

“Of course. Uh—what exactly do you do?” Dean asked with a million franc smile.

“Well, I help people make decisions in the political sphere, usually about projection and expected outcomes. It deals quite heavily with math and some of the sciences,” he answered.

“That’s quite interesting. Have you ever advised the King?”

“A few times, yes. Are you interested in political sciences?”

Play coy, Dean. Play _coy_.

“Oh, not really. I just always wondered what the King was like,” Dean responded, giving a light chuckle.

“He has quite interesting character, to say the least. But he isn’t hideous or witchlike. I find him a bit arrogant, but one can reason with the man.”

“Does he ever go out into the public? I heard he loves parties…”

“No, he stays here, but I know that people do want him to make more public appearances.”

“Does he not have courts?”

“He does, but they are composed of the people of the palace, no commoners or the like.”

“Does he not like the commoners?” Dean asked. He knew the answer to the question, of course, but he needed to know what this advisor thought.

“Oh, I don’t know if I would say he hates them, but he does hold a certain level of disdain. Just like every respectable person in this palace,” Castiel replied easily.

Even in the haze of pleasure, Dean couldn’t help but feel a twinge of hate in his heart at those words. His own family was out there, living day to day, and people like _him_ were in here, in this stuffy castle, ignoring the problems outside of the gates. The classism that lived between the walls made Dean sick.

But Dean kept a gentle smile on his face, trying not to let the anger get to his eyes. It was probably best to wrap this up and get back to his room.

Dean nodded, gave Castiel a fat kiss on his stubbly cheek, and sat up. “I’d best be going. I have to write a few letters and I have an early day tomorrow. Thank you for the company, and I hope we can meet again, maybe sometime tomorrow?”

“That would be wonderful. I can meet you in the garden at nine?” Castiel sat up, still undressed, with interest in his eyes.

“Of course, darling,” Dean said while pulling on a trouser leg.

Castiel watched him get dressed, amusement in his eyes, before they shared a deep kiss and parted ways. Dean slipped out into the corridor and wandered back to his room through the maze of hallways.

Even if Dean’s heart felt light and heady, there was still a chunk of lead in his stomach. Castiel clearly had been raised into his opinions, and that didn’t mean that he was a bad man. But on the other hand, catching feelings, even if it was just intrigue, for one of his targets was Dean’s number one rule on _Things Not To Do_. Castiel’s eyes made Dean’s knees weak and his smile made Dean’s heart flutter.

Dean really had his work cut out for him.

───── ⋆⋅♔⋅⋆ ─────

Tomorrow came faster than a horse pulling burning carriage, and Dean was surprisingly relaxed about it. He wouldn’t admit to himself that he had planned out a part of the day, but those plans went out the window as soon as Castiel approached him in the garden.

Castiel, the man with the dazzling blue eyes and the mind filled with knowledge. (Internally, Dean was swooning—shut _up_.)

Castiel was dressed in a sensible riding outfit, something which wasn’t supposed to be worn willy nilly, and now Dean’s day at the opera was quickly crushed. Dean couldn’t be upset though, as he hated the opera.

“Castiel, you look splendid, sir,” Dean commended with an easy going smile.

“As do you, Dean. I thought that we could take a look at the stable today, which I am sure you have seen?”

“I will admit that I haven’t, but I’d love to do so with you.”

Castiel hesitated, looking Dean up and down. “First, we are going to make a _quick_ stop at my quarters.” Castiel gave Dean a little wink at the work _quick_.

“Of course. I am not yet suited for a day of _riding_ ,” Dean responded, giving Castiel a devilish smirk at his double entendre.

Castiel hummed to himself in appreciation before he turned and gave Dean his arm, allowing the other man to link at the elbow. They walked down the rocky path back towards the palace.

───── ⋆⋅♔⋅⋆ ─────

There was riding, but it was of the equestrian sort. The two found themselves having easy fun while dancing around each other with the horses. They tried to play a round of two-person polo, but Dean couldn't help but cheat by hitting at Castiel’s mallet when he went for the ball.

They eventually retired the horses, allowing the stable boy to take them away after they gave the boy a tip.

Dean was still breathing heavy, his shirt nearly plastered to his chest with sweat when he realized that the day was still young.

“Castiel—we should go to the city,” Dean said with a whimsical smile on his face.

“To the city, we shall,” Castiel replied. He hooked his arm around Dean’s and pulled him down the walking path towards the palace’s square. The sounds of horses and commotion were everywhere while they searched for a carriage to ride in.

A kindly man named Claude allowed them to jump in before they took off at a leisurely pace towards the grand city of Paris. They watched the chestnut trees flow in the afternoon breeze before they turned their attentions back to the inside of the carriage.

As they sat on the opposite benches in the carriage, they couldn’t help but send shy looks towards each other. It was a game of cat and mouse, except they were both mice. They were too shy to do much of anything to each other.

They soon arrived in town, allowing Claude to drop them off at a corner on the edge of town. The hopped out and immediately began navigating the narrow streets.

Dean glanced Castiel over, immediately noticing how out of place he looked in his regal clothing. He decided that they needed a change of clothing if they were to explore without being noticed (or being harassed. The political climate was, after all, in shambles).

Dean pulled Castiel into a quaint shop called _Seams and Seals_. The place was small and cramped, but it had a rustic style that made Dean feel like he was at home.

“What are we doing here?” Castiel asked quizzically. He looked around, clearly confused by his surroundings.

“We’re going to dress in the latest Paris style. _Pour s'habiller à Paris, il faut devenir Paris_.”

“If you insist. I must know how I am to be dressed like a doll,” Castiel commented smugly. He gave Dean an appreciative smile.

“You sound so reluctant, and yet I just _know_ you’re excited,” Dean laughed. “Now, I need you to go behind that divider screen there and undress for me. I will gather some fluster-worthy garments.” Dean ushered Castiel to a small area with a mirror before he was rifling through the materials around him.

Castiel waited momentarily before some trousers and a few shirts were being thrown over the top of the divider. He grabbed what was thrown and pulled it on, not bothering to glance in the mirror. He pulled the divider screen aside before he revealed his new-found luxury to Dean.

The shirt was made of some kind of wool it was so itchy, and the trousers were tight on his thighs, so Castiel winced when Dean smiled at him. The quality was nowhere near the silk he was used to, but he had to admit that the clothes seemed to be much easier to work in and move with. They weren’t as stiff and didn’t hold their shape as much.

Dean gave a few small claps before he went forward to inspect the fit. He tugged at the sides and did things that Castiel didn’t understand, but he seemed to enjoy the outfit overall.

Castiel picked up his clothes that he’s left in the changing area before Dean went ahead and changed his own outfit.

Castiel was pulling his boot back on when Dean emerged from the divider screen. He was wearing a shirt that buttoned up the front that hung off of his frame slightly. His trousers were more tight fitting and outlined the frame of his legs.

Castiel stopped to admire the man in front of him. The clothes, though not of sound quality, seemed to fit Dean much more than the clothing that Castiel had grown used to. It made him look much more young and enlivened.

“What do you think?” Dean asked, gesturing to himself.

“I believe that that is a fine look on you,” Castiel replied honestly.

“Really? I thought your tastes were more fine, were they not?”

“I still admire the craftsmanship involved, Dean, even if the style is a bit crude.”

Dean smiled back at him before he grabbed his coin purse from the pocket of his other trousers.

“Dean—allow me,” Castiel said, quickly pulling his own wallet from his pocket. He pulled out 30 francs and handed them to Dean.

Dean went up the small counter and rang a silver bell. An older woman emerged from the back room and took the money, thanking Dean for the substantial tip that he left.

The two left the small shop and went up the main street. Dean couldn’t help but greet the people they went by, even going as far as to give some money to a beggar. He spoke to a baker, a woman and her 3 kids, an older man with a limp, and a child no older than 5. Dean emptied his wallet to them to show them that he cared.

Castiel gave them all some kind words and nods, but he was too busy watching Dean. If there was one thing that Castiel had learned, it was that Dean cared fiercely and never ceased to give his all.

───── ⋆⋅♔⋅⋆ ─────

They checked into an inn that night under different names. As they undressed, ready to get into their respective sides of the bed, Castiel was lost in thought.

He had met all manners of people, but the only type of people who were able to be as noble and as caring as Dean were people who had been through hard lives. But Dean, as someone raised as a palace noble, someone with a rich background in money, wasn’t the type to give it away so freely. Maybe Dean was of a different design, but Castiel had never met someone so kind.

Even now, as Dean undressed from his woolen clothing, he didn’t seem uncomfortable in a way that a noble would be. While Castiel had been itchy all day, Dean didn’t seem to mind the tough fibers. It was like Dean was used to living like a peasant. It was like Dean had another life somewhere else. Another life that didn’t involve politics or questionable morals. A life where things weren’t complicated. A life where people like Castiel weren’t involved.

Strange how a man like Dean was so used to things meant for the lower class.

Castiel dragged his eyes away from the man and focused on himself. He knew that he had been lucky enough to have a strong upbringing. His mother was his father’s trophy wife, and Castiel was raised by a nurse who spoiled him. As the eldest of two other brothers, Castiel had many people subservient to his will. Though he wasn’t abusive of his privileges, Castiel did have a type of power that many people couldn’t imagine.

Castiel sighed as he laid down in bed, tucked close to the warmth of Dean’s body. It was nice to share a space with someone in such an intimate manner. Even someone with such a convoluted background. But Castiel didn’t let it bother him while he was enjoying the moment, even if he knew, especially from experience, that the problem would come around to ruin him somehow.

───── ⋆⋅♔⋅⋆ ─────

Dean woke up before Castiel and slowly pulled away from the arms wrapped around his waist. He pulled on his trousers and went over to the wash basin and cleaned himself up. He took the time to shave with the razor that the inn had given him, and was finishing up when Castiel stirred.

Dean brought the water up to his face and washed off the rest of the shaving soap. His eyes were closed when he felt Castiel’s presence behind him. He smiled when Castiel put his hands on his hips.

He pulled away from the wash basin and felt for the towel that he left there. He felt Castiel’s hand meet his shoulder and then come to rest near his neck, along with a blade.

Dean froze.

There was a knife against his neck, placed there by Castiel, and Dean was completely defenseless. Castiel had to of swiped the razor while Dean wasn’t looking, as Dean’s searching eyes couldn’t find it.

How did he not see this coming?

Dean slowly pulled the towel away from his face and set it down next to the wash basin. There was still a few bubbles reflecting in the water in the light coming from the window. Dean couldn’t see much in the reflection, but he could tell there was some kind of foreign dagger against his neck. He could see its glinting rubies.

Dean thought fast and pulled Castiel’s arm out and away from his body, then delivered a swift kick to his center. Castiel had the air forced from his lungs and Dean winced in response before he threw himself towards the door.

Castiel recovered quickly, and beat Dean to it.

“Dean, I don’t want to hurt you. I just need information before this gets too out of hand,” he said while holding his arms out in a non-threatening gesture.

Dean felt his fists clench in response. His body was thrown into fight or flight mode and he was still searching for a way out of the inn.

Castiel slowly approached Dean like he was a spooked animal, careful not to make any sharp movements.

Dean eyed the blade still in his hand.

“I need to know who you’re working for, Dean. No ordinary person can know all you do and survive. You’re some kind of operative, and you’re looking to dispel the crown,” Castiel said in explanation. “But why?”

Dean couldn’t reveal that now, could he? It was sensitive information that would ruin the entire scheme of things. But Dean knew he didn’t have much of a choice other than to escape, bare the truth, or fight Castiel off. And Castiel didn’t seem like the worst fighter, as Dean only had the upper hand earlier because of luck. To escape, Dean would have to get through Castiel, find a place to stay, never return to the palace and effectively ruin his chances of victory at such a crucial moment.

But if he gave this information to Castiel? Who knew what the man would do with it… or how he would react. Dean could be dead in an instant.

Dean decided to take his chances instead of running like a coward.

“I’m a Frenchman, like you, but I was born in Lyon as the son of a seamstress. I am not rich, nor royal, or any other thing you have attached to me. I only want justice and peace for my people, unlike you _aristocrats_ , with your blind eyes.”

Dean spat the word ‘aristocrats’ like it was a curse.

Castiel’s eyes studied Dean, looking down his form with interest, like he could see he was malnourished or greying like most commoners.

“How did you get to the palace, then?” Castiel asked.

Dean hesitated, but continued. “The people of my city are putting their money towards me just to keep me here. They’ve put their faith in me, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let them down.”

Castiel’s brow rose in curiosity, a darker look coming across his face.

“And so you chose me… to _use_ me?”

Dean clenched his jaw. “Initially, yes. You're an advisor to the king—how could I turn you down?”

“What do you mean ‘initially’? Are you saying that you enjoy _my_ company, as a spy for the common people, and that you’ve stayed for… _me_?”

Dean bit the inside of his cheek and then resentfully replied, casting his gaze to the ground.

“Yes.”

“And your mission, it is to help those in need for the country of France?”

Dean nodded and looked up in curiosity, seeing a spark in Castiel’s eye.

“Then I see no reason not to trust you,” Castiel said while re-sheathing his dagger. “Explain everything.”

───── ⋆⋅♔⋅⋆ ─────

**_7 Months Later…_ **

Dean woke up slowly to natural sunlight streaming in from the window. Castiel’s arms were wrapped around his waist and keeping him warm in the increasingly cooler temperatures of autumn. Dean shifted and looked up towards the window, noting that it couldn’t have been earlier than 7 o’clock.

Dean pulled away from Castiel and left him gripping their shared blanket, before he put his trousers and a coat on and went outside. It had become routine for Dean to gather the eggs and milk their one cow (her name was _Susan_ ) before cooking something for them both to eat. He had decided on ham and eggs with bread and butter.

Dean took time to re-stoke their little cast iron stove before he started on breakfast. Castiel entered the kitchen and quickly began preparing cups of coffee for them both, huddling close next to Dean by the stove.

Sam was supposed to be visiting later that day with his wife Jessica. They were expecting their first child, and while Dean knew that was still something to consider for the future of his and Castiel’s relationship, he knew that he would love to be a father.

“What has you thinking? The eggs are nearly burnt, beloved,” Castiel commented before removing the eggs from the heat of the stove. He scraped them out onto a set of plates and placed the pan into the wash bin.

“I just… I’m thinking about what we are going to do together.”

“Well, we are going to have a picnic today with your family.”

“I meant in the _future_ , dearest.”

Castiel thought for a moment. “Well, I’d rather let that sort itself out.”

Dean shrugged and brought the plates to their rickety, wooden table. They sat down and finished their breakfast in a companionable silence, allowing the peace and quiet to settle comfortably.

_End._

**Author's Note:**

> You've gotten this far, why not leave a kudo? :D


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